


Comfort Food

by yellowbessie



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who: Eighth Doctor Adventures - Various Authors
Genre: Angst, Comfort Food, Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 04:37:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5192612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellowbessie/pseuds/yellowbessie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s always bugged me how at the end of The Taint, Fitz changes from being angry at the Doctor to being excited to travel with them in like one page with no real explanation. They must’ve had a conversation sometime to clear the air. Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort Food

The Doctor thought Fitz had gone to bed, but the TARDIS informs them that the boy is up and puttering about. After the past few days - after losing his mother - it’s not surprising Fitz is having trouble sleeping.

The Doctor finds their new guest at the stove in the kitchen. Loose pajama bottoms hang crookedly from his narrow hips.

‘I didn’t know you cooked,’ the Doctor greets.

Fitz’s reply is 70% flippant sarcasm, 30% bitterness, ‘Yeah, well, I can boil an egg like the best of ‘em. And my toaster-loading skills are second to none.’

‘Finding everything you need?’

Fitz grunts, the verbal equivalent of an indifferent shrug. Not a promising conversation starter.  
  
‘I just came in for some tea.’ It’s a lie, but the Doctor’s told worse.

‘There should be plenty,’ Fitz nods towards the pot on the counter. Not quite an invitation, but not a dismissal.

The Doctor sets the tea at the table (tea pot, sugar, Fitz’s mug, and a more genteel cup and saucer of the Doctor’s own choosing). Fitz finishes cutting his toast strips and peeling the shell from his boiled egg.

‘Shall I be mother?’ The habitual phrase is out before the Doctor realizes how dreadfully inappropriate it is to ask someone whose mother has just died. Excuses tumble out rapid-fire. ‘Oh, Fitz, I’m sorry. That was insensitive. Pure habit. I didn’t mean -’ the Doctor pauses for breath. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Yeah, well.’ Fitz drums an uncomfortable rhythm on the table. 

Some humans like to talk about their problems, others don’t. The Doctor doesn’t yet know which camp this new companion falls into, so they gently ask, ‘What was she like?’

‘Mum? You met her.’

‘No, no, that wasn’t her. When I met her -’

Fitz interrupts icily, ‘When you _killed_ her.’

‘There was nothing I could do. Your mother - your _real_ mother - was dead long before. You saw them, Fitz. You _know_ that.’

The boy’s gray eyes are stormy. He’s still hurt. Still angry. Not yet ready to forgive.

But, still willing to talk. Or maybe he just needs someone to talk to. 

‘She was crazy,’ he continues. ‘Totally out of her mind. It was rough - growing up with a German name and a daft mum. But, she did the best she could, you know?’

The Doctor nods, familiar with the depths of parental affection. ‘She loved you.’

‘Yeah,’ Fitz blushes, as if embarrassed to admit it. His eyes glaze over with memories, 'She wasn’t a good cook - we didn’t have the money for fancy foods anyway - but most Sunday mornings, she’d make this,’ he waves a yolk-covered stick of toast before munching it down.

The Doctor recognizes the meal. ‘Toast soldiers?’

‘Soldiers and dippy eggs.’ Fitz confirms.

‘Comfort food.’

‘I guess,’ he sighs, more confirmation than doubt. ‘I just needed to do something to remember her, you know? Besides, it’s one of the only things I know how to make.’ He finishes with a self-deprecating grin.

It’s an obvious attempt to break the tension, to turn the conversation to less-serious matters. But the Doctor needs to make one thing clear.

‘The life we lead isn’t easy. Sam and I have to make tough decisions every day. I don’t regret what I did to your mother, or to the others like her. It was the right thing to do.’ They catch Fitz’s eyes, ‘If you think you’re not up to it, I can drop you back right now. No harm done.’

Rubbing the back of his neck doubtfully, Fitz answers, ‘To be honest with you, I’m likely to cock up _any_ situation.’

‘No better way to learn than to try, I always say. Are you at least willing to try?’

Fitz leans back in his chair, affecting a Sean Connery accent, ‘I hope you’re not… disappointed.’

The Doctor’s eyes roll in exasperation. ‘And I hope you turn out to be better than your atrocious accents!’

‘That wasn’t an accent, it was an impersonation! And a damned good one, too.’ 

Shaking their head, the Doctor gets up to leave Fitz to his food and memories. But they can’t resist a parting shot. ‘Thanks for the begonia. Bonsoir monsieur Kreiner.’

‘Blackmailer! I’ll get you for that.’ 

The Doctor smiles as they wander back to the console room, wondering what they’ve gotten themselves into, hoping this new companion is able to stick around for a while.


End file.
